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Bidding on Her Boss
Rachel Bailey
What happens when an ambitious employee buys her boss at a bachelor auction? Find out in this story from USA TODAY bestselling author Rachel Bailey!Florist Faith Crawford has a brilliant plan–win her company's CEO at a bachelor auction and use their "date" to show him her designs. But her plan backfires when the focus of their meeting shifts from flowers to a floor-tilting kiss.For Dylan Hawke, it's time for damage control. Promoting the talented Faith is a no-brainer, but fraternizing with her is strictly forbidden. Dylan must remain professional–the fate of his business rests in the balance. Too bad Dylan won't rest until he gets another kiss…
As Dylan drew away, Faith tried to catch her breath.
It seemed he was doing the same. Except she wasn’t sure she’d ever get her breath back again—that kiss was unlike anything she’d experienced before. In fact, if she just leaned forward a little, she could experience it again…
And then the enormity of the situation hit her.
She’d just kissed her boss.
Or he’d kissed her—she wasn’t sure about the details of what had just happened. All she knew was she’d never been kissed with that much hunger. That much passion. That much mind-numbing skill. That it had been her employer, someone she shouldn’t have been kissing in the first place, was a cruel twist of irony. If she’d screwed up her well-ordered plan, or caused him to not take her seriously, she’d never forgive herself.
“Faith,” he said, his voice a rasp. “I’m sorry. That was completely out of line.”
Honesty compelled her to point out the truth. “You weren’t there alone.”
* * *
Bidding on Her Boss is part of The Hawke Brothers trilogy: Three tycoon bachelors, three very special mergers…
Bidding on Her Boss
Rachel Bailey
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
RACHEL BAILEY developed a serious book addiction at a young age (via Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck), and has never recovered. Just how she likes it. She went on to earn degrees in psychology and social work but is now living her dream—writing romance for a living.
She lives in a piece of paradise on Australia’s Sunshine Coast with her hero and four dogs, where she loves to sit with a dog or two, overlooking the trees and reading books from her evergrowing to-be-read pile.
Rachel would love to hear from you and can be contacted through her website, www.rachelbailey.com (http://www.rachelbailey.com).
This book is dedicated to Sharon Archer, who is not only an amazing author, but is also a brilliant critique partner and very dear friend. Sharon, thank you for being on this journey with me.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_9430ddf8-9c7b-5cc6-899b-d121de3d6514)
Huge thanks to Charles Griemsman for his editing and support with this book—Charles, it’s always a pleasure to work with you. Also, thank you to Barbara DeLeo and Amanda Ashby for the brainstorming and help, and to John for always supporting my dreams.
Contents
Cover (#u95818271-e1fd-5626-bc82-366412afc024)
Introduction (#u7a92bd97-a159-5f17-bbd8-cada824b5864)
Title Page (#u9efd6f56-aefd-5773-873e-fff780d21164)
About the Author (#u40cd6dfc-15d5-5e7d-a7b3-285686e05ebf)
Dedication (#udb87d8b4-3c56-540d-aa0a-0cdd6208d8c2)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_4cff857b-cb4d-56a7-af37-8c00c015c6bb)
One (#ulink_b8cfbfdb-0dba-539f-9be5-cea0a6e86f0f)
Two (#ulink_b67e9ca0-4e25-56c5-bf5c-88ee9f4be3ee)
Three (#ulink_bb78c5bf-0cdf-5f57-b672-69cad7bde863)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ulink_00dce5bd-3e40-5751-a91d-42bfd28d69da)
Dylan Hawke had done a few things he regretted in his life, but he had a feeling this one might top the list.
The spotlight shone in his eyes, but he smiled as he’d been instructed and gave a sweeping bow before making his way down the stairs and onto the stage. Applause—and a few cheers that he suspected were from his family—greeted him.
“We’ll start the bidding at two hundred dollars,” the emcee said from the front of the stage.
Dylan sucked in a breath. And so it begins. Step one of rehabilitating his image—donate his time to charity. Now that his brother was marrying a princess, Dylan’s own mentions in the media had skyrocketed, and he’d quickly realized his playboy reputation could be a disadvantage for his future sister-in-law and the things she wanted to achieve for homeless children in LA.
“What do I hear for Dylan?” the emcee, a sitcom actor, called out. “Dylan Hawke is the man behind the chain of Hawke’s Blooms florists, so we can guarantee he knows about romancing his dates.”
A murmur went around the crowded room as several white paddles with black numbers shot into the air. He couldn’t see too much detail past the spotlight that shone down on him, but it seemed that the place was full, and that the waiters were keeping the guests’ drinks topped off as they moved through the crowd.
“Two fifty, three hundred,” the emcee called.
Dylan spotted his brother Liam sitting with his fiancée, Princess Jensine of Larsland. Jenna—who had been hiding incognito as Dylan’s housekeeper before she met Liam—gave him a thumbs-up. This was the first fund-raising event of the new charity, the Hawke Brothers Trust, which Jenna had established to raise money for homeless children. Now that she and Liam were to be married, they planned to split their family’s time between her homeland and LA, and the trust would utilize the skills she’d gained growing up in a royal family. It would be the perfect project for her—she’d said it was something she could sink her teeth into.
Dylan believed in the cause and believed in Jenna, so his job tonight was to help raise as much money as he could. He just wished he’d been able to do it in a less humiliating way. Like, say, writing a check.
But that method wouldn’t help rehabilitate his image.
Which had led him to this moment. On stage in front of hundreds of people. Being sold.
“Five hundred and fifty,” the emcee said, pointing at a redhead near the side of the room, whose paddle said sixty-three.
Dylan threw Sixty-Three a wink, and then crossed to where a blonde woman held up her paddle. The emcee called, “Six hundred.”
Dylan squinted against the lights. There was something familiar about the blonde... Then it hit him and his gut clenched tight. It was Brittany Oliver, a local network weather girl. They’d been out two or three times a few years ago, but she’d been cloying. When he found out that she was already planning a future and children for them, he’d broken it off. He swallowed hard and sent up a prayer that someone outbid her. Maybe the cute redhead with paddle sixty-three.
He dug one hand in his pocket and flashed a charming smile at the audience—a smile he’d been using to effect since he was fourteen. He was rewarded when a stunning woman with long dark hair and coffee-colored skin raised her paddle. He was starting not to mind being on stage after all.
“Six fifty,” the emcee called. “Seven hundred dollars. Seven fifty.”
He knew Jenna was hoping for a big amount from this auction to get their charity started with a bang, so he took the rosebud from his buttonhole and threw it into the crowd. It was a cheesy move, but then the bidding happened so quickly that all of a sudden it hit two thousand.
Dylan steeled himself and looked over at Brittany, and sure enough, she was still in the running. He had no idea whether she’d want to chew his ear off for breaking things off or try to convince him they should get back together. Either way, it would be an uncomfortable evening. He should have had a backup plan—a signal to tell Jenna to bid whatever it took if things went awry. He could have reimbursed her later.
“Three thousand four hundred.”
It was the redhead. Dylan looked her over. Bright copper hair scraped into a curly ponytail on top of her head, cobalt blue halter top, dark eyes that were wide as she watched the other bidders, and a bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. She looked adorable. In his pocket where the audience couldn’t see, he crossed his fingers that she won. He could spend an enjoyable evening with her, a nice meal, maybe a drive to a moonlit lookout, maybe a movie.
“Four thousand six hundred.”
A flash bulb went off and he smiled, but he needed to get the bidding higher for the trust. He ambled over to the emcee and indicated with a tilt of his head that he had something to say. She covered the mic with her hand and lowered it.
“Make it three dates,” he said, his voice low.
Her eyebrows shot up, and then she nodded and raised the mic again. “I’ve just received information that the package up for auction now consists of three dates.”
Over the next few minutes, there was another flurry of raised paddles before the emcee finally said, “Going once, going twice, sold for eight thousand two hundred dollars.”
Dylan realized he’d stopped following the bidding and had no idea who’d won.
“Number sixty-three, you can meet Mr. Hawke at the side of the stage to make arrangements. Next we have a sports star who will need no introduction.” The emcee’s voice faded into the background as Dylan realized the cute redhead had made the top bid. He grinned.
Maybe turning his reputation around and doing his bit for charity wouldn’t be so bad after all.
* * *
Faith Crawford stood, adjusted the hem of her halter top over her black pants and slipped between the tables to where Dylan Hawke was waiting for her by the side of the stage.
Her belly fluttered like crazy but she steeled herself and, when she reached him, stuck out her hand.
“Hi, I’m Faith,” she said.
Dylan took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back. “I’m Dylan, and, on behalf of my family, I appreciate your donation to the Hawke Brothers Trust.”
He gave her a slow smile and her insides melted, but she tried to ignore her body’s reaction. Her body didn’t realize that Dylan Hawke was a notorious charmer who had probably used that exact smile on countless women. Which was why her brain was in charge. Well, she thought as she looked into his twinkling green eyes, mostly in charge.
Dylan released her hand and straightened. “I have a few ideas about places we could go on our first date—”
Faith shook her head. “I know where I want to go.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Okay, then. I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
Oh, she knew exactly what she wanted. And it wasn’t Dylan Hawke, despite how good he looked in that tuxedo. It was what he could do for her career. She’d just made a large investment in her future—having bid most of her savings—and she wouldn’t let it go to waste.
He slid a pen out of an inside pocket of his jacket and grabbed a napkin from a nearby table. “Write down your address and I’ll pick you up. How does tomorrow night sound?”
The sooner the better. “Tomorrow is good. But instead of picking me up, I’d rather meet you. Let’s say in front of your Santa Monica store at seven?”
He grinned, but this time it wasn’t a charmer’s smile. It was genuine. She liked this one more—she could imagine getting into all sorts of mischief with the man wearing that grin.
“A woman of mystery,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Nice. Okay, Faith Sixty-Three, I’ll meet you in front of the Santa Monica Hawke’s Blooms store at seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be there,” she said and then turned and walked along the edge of the room to the door, aware that several curious gazes followed her exit. Including Dylan Hawke’s. Which was just how she needed him—with his full attention focused on her.
Now all she had to do was keep her own attention soundly focused on her career, and not on getting into mischief with her date and his grin.
* * *
Dylan pulled his Porsche into the small parking lot in front of his Santa Monica store. He tried to get around to all thirty-two stores fairly regularly, but given that they were spread from San Francisco to San Diego, it didn’t happen as often as it used to, and he couldn’t remember exactly when he was last at this one. It looked good, though, and he knew the sales figures were in the top quarter of all the Hawke’s Blooms stores.
Movement near the door caught his attention. It was Faith. Her red hair gleamed in the window lights and bounced about her shoulders. She wore a halter-neck summer dress that was fitted in all the right places and flared out over her hips, down to her knees, showing shapely calves atop stylish heels. His pulse picked up speed as he stepped out of his car.
All he knew about this woman was that she liked halter tops, her hair could stop traffic, she was wealthy enough to have spare cash lying around to help out a new charity and her lips could set his blood humming. But damn if he didn’t want to know more.
“Evening, Faith,” he said, walking around and opening his passenger side door.
She didn’t take a step closer, just stood at the shop door looking adorable and said, “We won’t be needing your car tonight.”
He glanced around—the parking lot was empty. “You have a magic carpet tucked away somewhere?”
“No need,” she said brightly. “We’re already here.”
She dug into her bag and came out with a handful of keys looped together on what looked like plaited ribbons. As he watched in surprise, she stuck a key into the front door, and he heard a click. She stepped in, efficiently disabled the alarm and turned back to him. “Come on in.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes, half expecting one of his brothers to jump out and yell “gotcha” because he’d fallen for the prank. But Faith was busy putting her bag behind the counter and switching on lights. Shaking his head, he set the keyless lock on his car, followed her into the store and closed the door behind them. He had no idea what she had planned or what she really wanted out of this date, but for some reason that didn’t bother him. This woman was piquing his interest on more than one level—something he hadn’t experienced in a long while—and he realized he was enjoying the sensation.
“Who are you, Faith Sixty-Three?” he asked, leaning back against the counter and appreciating the way her dress hugged her lush curves.
She faced him then, her cheeks flushed and her warm brown eyes sparkling. “I’m a florist. My name is Faith Crawford and I work for you in this store.”
Faith Crawford? That name rang a bell, but he couldn’t remember any specifics. He narrowed his eyes. “Mary O’Donnell is the manager here, isn’t she?”
“Yep, she’s my manager,” Faith said over her shoulder as she turned the light on in the storeroom in the back of the shop.
He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. This had gone past Woman of Mystery and was fast becoming ridiculous. Why would an employee want to spend a purseful of money on a night or three with the boss? Could she have an axe to grind? Was she hoping to sleep her way to a promotion?
He blew out a breath. “How long have you worked for me?”
She turned to face him, standing a little taller. “Six months, Mr. Hawke.”
“So you know Hawke’s Blooms has a no fraternization policy.” A policy he wholeheartedly believed in. “Managers can’t be involved with anyone who works for them.”
She didn’t seem fazed. “I’m aware of that, yes.”
“Yet,” he pressed, taking a step closer and catching a whiff of her exotic perfume, “you still paid good money for a date—well, three dates—with me.”
A small frown line appeared between her brows. “Nowhere was it specified that they were supposed to be romantic dates with the bachelors.”
Dylan was about to reply, then realized he was losing control of the conversation. “Then what do you want from me?” he asked warily.
She grabbed a clip from her handbag and pulled her hair back. “I want you to spend the evening here with me.”
“Doing what, exactly?” he asked as he watched her clip her red curls, which burst out the top of the clasp in copper-colored chaos.
“Watching.”
He felt his eyebrows lift. “I have to warn you, kinky propositions still fall under the no fraternization policy.”
Faith rolled her eyes, but he saw the corners of her mouth twitch. “I’ll be making a floral arrangement.”
Right. As if he didn’t get enough of that in his average day. And yet, he thought, glancing at her pale, long fingers, there was something appealing about the idea of watching Faith at work. Her fingers looked as if they’d be gentle yet firm. He could almost feel them on his jaw, then stroking across his shoulders. His skin tingled...and he realized he was getting carried away. This was not a path he could take with an employee—which he’d only just explained to her.
Besides, his attraction was probably a result of being in the store at night, alone, cocooned in the area illuminated by the lights. It couldn’t be more.
He rubbed a hand down his face. “Let me get this straight. I know what you’re earning, so unless you have a trust fund, your bid was a decent amount of money to you. Yet you paid it to have me sit and watch you do the job that we normally pay you to do.”
She beamed at him. “That’s it.”
“I’ve missed something,” he said, tilting his head to the side. She was becoming more intriguing by the minute.
She opened the fridge door and pulled out buckets of peonies, lilacs and magnolias. “Have you ever had a dream, Mr. Hawke? Something that was all yours and made you smile when you thought about it?”
Dylan frowned. His career dreams had always been for Hawke’s Blooms, but they were dreams he shared with his family. Had he ever had one that was his alone?
“Sure,” he said casually, knowing it was probably a lie and unsure how he felt about that.
While looking at him, she began to strip the leaves from the flower stems. “Then you know how it is.”
As he took in the glow on her face, his pulse picked up speed. “What’s your dream, Faith?”
She smiled mysteriously. “I have many dreams, but there’s one in particular I’m trying to achieve now.”
He met her gaze and the room faded away. He could have looked at her all night. Then her eyes darkened. Her breathing became irregular. Dylan wanted to groan. She felt the chemistry between them as well. His body responded to the knowledge, tightening, heating. But he couldn’t let that happen. This was dangerous. He frowned and swung away.
“Tell me about the dream,” he said when he turned back around, this time more in control of himself.
After a beat, Faith gave a small nod. “To open the Hawke’s Blooms catalog and see one of my designs there on the page.”
This was all about the catalog? He leaned back against the bench opposite the one Faith was working on and crossed his ankles. “We have a procedure in place for that.”
“I know it by heart,” she said, taking foam and a white tray down from the shelf. “‘Any Hawke’s Blooms florist may submit an original floral design to his or her manager, accompanied by a completed, signed application form. If the manager believes the design has merit, she or he will pass it to the head office to be considered for inclusion in the catalog of standard floral designs used for customer orders.’”
Dylan smiled. She’d recited the procedure word for word. “And,” he added, “that process doesn’t cost a single penny. Why didn’t you go that route?”
“I did.” She clipped the bottoms from a bunch of peony stems. “About twenty times, in fact. After my manager rejected number sixteen, I began to think that way might not work for me.” She smiled and her dimples showed.
He thought about her manager, Mary O’Donnell. Mary was simpering to management, which was annoying, but he knew she ran a tight ship. Was it possible she was blocking her own staff from advancement? “Are you making a complaint about your manager?” he asked, serious.
She shook her head, and her hands slowed to a stop as she met his gaze. “I’m a good florist, Mr. Hawke. I take pride in my work, and take direction from my manager. I do my best by our customers and have a good group of regulars who ask for me by name. So I don’t think it’s too much to ask to have just one of my designs considered so I can move my career forward.”
Dylan knew he was lucky—he’d grown up in the family business, where his input had been not only listened to but also encouraged. But what if he’d been in Faith’s shoes? An employee of a large company who was struggling to have her voice heard. He watched her place flowers in the foam, turning the arrangement with the other hand as she went. He’d like to think he’d have gone the extra mile, the way Faith was doing tonight.
“So you decided to get creative,” he said, hearing the trace of admiration in his own voice.
“Seeing you were auctioning off a night of your time seemed like a sign.” She glanced up at him, her long-lashed eyes earnest. “Do you believe in destiny, Mr. Hawke?”
“Can’t say it’s something I’ve ever paid much attention to,” he said. Unlike, say, the way the side of her jaw sloped down to her neck, or the sprinkling of pale ginger freckles across her nose.
“Well, I do, and I’d just been thinking ‘If only I could speak to someone in the head office myself’ when the posters for the auction went up in the window. The very window where I work.” She paused, moistening her lips. “You can see it was too strong a sign to ignore, can’t you?”
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to chuckle or to kiss those full lips her tongue had darted over. Instead, he murmured, “I suppose so.”
“So I attended the auction, used a good portion of my savings, and here we are.” She splayed her free hand to emphasize her point, and then picked up a roll of ribbon and went back to what she was doing.
Dylan shifted his weight. Something about this situation and her confidence was beginning to make him uncomfortable. After she’d spent that amount of money—which he’d reimburse now that he knew she was an employee trying to get a meeting with him—and she’d gone to this much effort, how would she react if he agreed with her manager?
“Tell me, Faith,” he said carefully. “What happens if, after all this effort and expense, I don’t like your design enough to put it in the catalog?”
She looked him in the eye again. There was no artifice, no game playing in her deep brown gaze. “Then I’ll know I’ve given it my best shot, and I’ll work harder to create an even better design.”
Dylan nodded. She believed in herself but didn’t have a sense of entitlement and was prepared to put in the work to improve her situation. He liked her attitude. In fact, there were a number of things he liked about Faith Crawford—including things he shouldn’t allow himself to like now that he knew she worked for him. Such as the crazy hair that his fingers were itching to explore, and the way her sweet-shaped mouth moved as she spoke.
There was also a vibrancy about her that dragged his gaze back every time he looked away. How would it feel to hold all that vibrancy in his arms? Her kisses would be filled with passion, he just knew it, and in his bed... Dylan held back a groan and determinedly refocused on Faith’s floristry skills.
Her movements were quick and economical but still flowed, almost as if her hands were dancing. He’d had a stab at displaying flowers in the past but hadn’t pulled off more than rudimentary arrangements. It had been enough for the roadside stall his family had started the business with but hadn’t come close to what a florist with training and flair could create. Yet having been around professional florists for his entire adult life, he was good at spotting skill in someone else.
He could already tell that Faith didn’t just have the training all florists employed by Hawke’s Blooms stores required. She also had that indefinable, creative something that differentiated the great from the good. Whether she’d harnessed that talent, and was able to use it to create designs of the standard needed to be included in the catalog, was yet to be seen.
But if nothing else, tonight Faith Crawford had achieved one thing she’d set out to achieve—she definitely had his full attention.
In fact, he was having trouble looking anywhere but at her.
* * *
Faith added another peony to the arrangement and tried to ignore the prickles on the back of her neck that told her Dylan was watching her again. Of course, that’s what the whole night had been engineered to achieve, but he was only sometimes following what her hands were doing. At other times...
Heat rose in her belly as she thought about the way he’d been staring at her mouth a few minutes ago. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her with that much hunger. Especially a man she’d been wanting to wrap herself around and kiss as if there was no tomorrow ever since he’d stepped out of his sex-on-wheels car.
And that it had to be Dylan Hawke, the CEO of the company? Well, that was fate playing a cruel joke on her. So she pretended that she wasn’t wildly attracted to the man in front of her and that he wasn’t sending her the same signals. She focused on the flowers. Which was working out fairly well, except for the prickles on the back of her neck.
But she needed to concentrate, to stop letting herself be distracted. Ruthlessly she reminded herself of what was at stake: getting this right could mean a fantastic boost to her career. She turned the arrangement with quick flicks of her wrist, checking for symmetry. Just a few stray leaves to trim. She snipped them away carefully. It looked good, balanced in color and form...but was it special enough to go into the catalog? She’d controlled her wilder artistic urges and gone for a safer conservative arrangement to impress. Butterflies fluttered mercilessly in her stomach. For the first time, she realized how much Mary’s criticism had dented her confidence in her creativity.
She reached out to touch a crisp green leaf. This arrangement was finished—but still she hesitated.
“All done?”
She jolted at the sound of Dylan’s voice so close to her ear. Last time she’d been aware of him, he’d been on the other side of the bench. She tried to move to the side. Her foot caught on something and she felt herself begin to fall. A hand closed around her arm, and her almost certain tumble was averted. She closed her eyes, and then opened them to find Dylan staring at her. The picture of him on the company website was nothing like the living, breathing man before her.
With him so close, no more than a hand span away, his scent surrounded her. It was dark and mysterious, surprising. She’d have expected something lighter, more recognizable, perhaps one of the expensive name-brand colognes. Yet this had undertones of a night in the forest—earthy, secretive and alluring. A shiver ran down her body to her toes. Dylan stilled.
Her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the heat from his body reaching out to envelop her. The world receded around her and all she could see, all she could feel, was Dylan. His eyes darkened and she swallowed hard. She should step away, not let her body lead her into temptation. But, oh, what temptation this man was. She could feel her pulse thundering at the base of her throat and saw Dylan’s gaze drop to observe the same thing.
“Faith,” he murmured, his breathing uneven.
She closed her eyes, fighting the effect of hearing her name on his lips, and when she opened them again, he was closer than before, his breath fanning over her face. Her hands found their way to his chest, so solid and warm.
A shudder ran down his body at her touch.
“Please—” she said, and before she could finish the thought his mouth was on hers. A small part of her mind told her to pull away, but instead, her hands fisted in his shirt, not letting him go.
He groaned as she opened her mouth to him, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her close while pushing her back against the workbench. His tongue was like nothing else as it stroked along the side of hers, leaving her wanting more. To be closer. So much closer.
She was lost.
Two (#ulink_34afc37e-2764-5af8-bd9e-ef7cec97da40)
As Dylan drew away, Faith tried to catch her breath. It seemed as if he was doing the same. Except she wasn’t sure she’d ever get her breath back again—that kiss was unlike anything she’d experienced before. In fact, if she just leaned forward a little, she could experience it again...
And then the enormity of the situation hit her, sending her knees wobbling.
She’d just kissed her boss.
No, not her boss—the big boss. She’d just kissed the man with ultimate responsibility for every single Hawke’s Blooms store.
Or he’d kissed her—she wasn’t sure about the details of what had just happened. All she knew was she’d never been kissed with that much hunger. That much passion. That much mind-numbing skill. That it had been her employer, someone she shouldn’t have been kissing in the first place, was a cruel twist of irony. If she’d screwed up her well-ordered plan or caused him to not take her seriously, she’d never forgive herself.
“Faith,” he said, his voice a rasp. “I’m sorry. That was completely out of line.”
Honesty compelled her to point out the truth. “You weren’t there alone.”
“But I’m the one who’s the boss.” He winced. “It’s my responsibility not to cross the damn line. You shouldn’t feel pressured or uncomfortable in your workplace, and I apologize.”
“I don’t feel uncomfortable. Well,” she amended, looking down at her hands, “I didn’t feel uncomfortable or pressured then. I guess I’m uncomfortable now.” She glanced back up, meeting his wary gaze. “But you should know, I wanted to kiss you. Then.”
His head tilted to the side. “But not now?”
“No.” Which was a lie. She definitely wanted to kiss him again. Wanted it more than almost anything. The key was the almost. She wanted a flourishing career more than she wanted to kiss Dylan Hawke again.
He blew out a breath. “That’s a relief, but it’s not enough. It was selfish of me to kiss you when you wanted me here for a completely different purpose. I give you my word it won’t happen again.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, trying to conjure a professional facade.
He was silent for a couple of beats, his gaze assessing. “You seem quite certain, considering you just said you’d wanted me to kiss you only a few minutes ago.”
She wasn’t sure where he was coming from—it didn’t look like flirting, but she couldn’t read him well enough to know. Maybe he was testing her, wanting to ensure she wasn’t going to change her mind and make waves in the company. Whatever it was about, she had to be absolutely clear so he understood her position.
She drew in a breath and lifted her chin. “Boyfriends and lovers aren’t hard to come by, Mr. Hawke. What I need more than a man is someone to appreciate my talent. I hope this isn’t offensive, but I want you professionally more than personally.”
He flashed her a self-deprecating smile. “Understood. Which means I’d better have a look at this arrangement.”
She stood back to give him some room. Everything she’d done recently, from making the plan to attending the auction to spending most of her savings to meeting Dylan here tonight, had led to this moment. It was the do-or-die moment, and all she could do was step back, cross her fingers and hope he’d still give an honest assessment after he’d kissed her.
Dylan dug his hands in his pockets as he faced her arrangement. He moved around, looking at it from several angles before straightening with a grimace.
“That bad?” she asked, her stomach in free fall. “You’re grimacing.”
“No, it’s not bad.” He leaned back against the bench and crossed his arms over his chest. “If I’m not smiling it’s because I really wanted to put your arrangement in the catalog.”
She felt the words like a slap. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them form. “But you’re not going to.”
“I’m sorry, Faith,” he said, his voice gentle. “Especially after...” He gestured toward the other end of the bench, where they’d been when he’d kissed her.
She bit down on her lip. She might feel bad, but she didn’t want him to feel bad as well. He was only doing his job. “Don’t apologize. If it’s not good enough, that’s my problem, not yours.”
“The thing is, it’s good, really good, but it looks a lot like the arrangements that are already in the book. If we add something new, then it needs to be unique. It has to offer our customers a genuine alternative to the options already there, and this arrangement, though beautiful, is—”
“Too much like what they can already choose,” she finished for him, understanding his point, but still deflated.
He moved closer and laid a hand on her shoulder, his eyes kind. “But I’ll reimburse the money you paid at the auction. You shouldn’t have to pay to have an appointment with someone at the head office.”
Her back stiffened. He wasn’t going to wriggle out of this that easily. “I won’t take the money back. I have two more dates left and I plan to use them.”
There was no way she was giving up this direct line to the head of the Hawke’s Blooms stores. It had been a good plan when she’d made it, and it was still a good plan...as long as she hadn’t blown her chances by kissing him.
Sure, tonight hadn’t been the raging success she’d hoped for, but there were two more dates yet. When she set her mind to something, she didn’t give up until she’d achieved it. She’d impress him yet and get one of her arrangements in the catalog.
He dropped his hand and sighed. “The thing is, Faith, I can’t force you to take the money back, but it would be easier for me if you did.”
“Perhaps,” she said and smiled sweetly. “But it wouldn’t be easier for me.”
“Look, can I be honest?”
He thrust the fingers of both hands through his hair and left them there, linking them behind his head. This wasn’t the same man who’d kissed her moments before, or the man who ran an entire chain of retail stores, or even the man who’d confidently strutted the stage at the auction. This one seemed more real.
She nodded. “Please.”
“I’m in the process of trying to rehabilitate my image.” He gave her half a smile, and she tried not to laugh at how adorable he looked now.
“From playboy to the future brother-in-law of a princess?”
He shifted his weight to his other leg. “Yeah, something like that.”
“So to stop people seeing you as a playboy, you auctioned yourself off to the highest bidder?” She jumped up to sit on the bench, enjoying his discomfort more than she would have expected, but also enjoying seeing this private side of him.
He coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, when you put it like that, it sounds crazy.”
Suddenly she was more than intrigued. This man was a mass of contradictions and she wanted to know more. To understand him. “Then how would you put it?”
“I’m throwing myself into our new charity. The auction was only the first step, but I’ll be involved every step of the way.”
“A respectable, upstanding member of the community.” She could see him pulling it off, too. Going from a playboy to a pillar of the community.
“So you can see that the very last thing I need is a scandal involving a staff member, especially given that we have a policy about management being involved with staff.”
A scandal? She frowned. What, exactly, did he think she wanted from those other two dates? “Dylan, I’m not expecting romance on the other dates any more than I expected it on this one.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “But image is everything.”
That was true. She cast her mind around for a solution. There was no way she was giving up her remaining dates without a fight. “What if no one knows? We could do them in secret.”
“That boat pretty much sailed when the auction was covered by the media,” he said and chuckled. Then he sobered and let out a long breath. “But it’s more than that.”
Understanding dawned. “Our kiss changed things.” She said the words softly, as if acknowledging the truth too loudly would make a difference.
He nodded, his gaze not wavering from her eyes. “And it’s very important that I see you only as an employee, and you see me only as a boss.”
“I won’t have any trouble with that. Are you saying you will?” She arched her eyebrow in challenge, guessing Dylan Hawke was a man who didn’t shrink from a challenge.
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “If you can do it, I can.”
“Then it looks like we don’t have a problem, do we?” Knowing he was trapped in the logic of it, she jumped down from the bench and grabbed the trash.
She felt him behind her, not moving, probably assessing his options. Then finally he took the trash can from her and began to sweep stem cuttings together with his free hand.
“It appears you’ve won this round, Faith Sixty-Three,” he said from beside her.
She flashed him a wry smile. “Dylan, if I’d won this round, my design would soon be featured in the catalog. All I’ve done is kept the door open for another round.”
“You know what?” he said, his voice amused. “Even though I know I shouldn’t be, I’m already looking forward to the next round.”
She turned and caught his gaze, finding a potent mix of humor and heat there—something closer to the real man she’d glimpsed earlier. Quickly she turned away. This was going to be hard enough without seeing him as anything more than the head of the Hawke’s Blooms stores. And she had a sinking feeling it might already be too late for that anyway...
* * *
Two days later, Dylan pulled into the parking lot of the Santa Monica store. He hadn’t done an all-day inspection for a while. It used to be part of his management style—show up in the morning unannounced, hang around in the background and help out where he could. Nothing beat it for getting a good feel for how a store was working and what needed improvement.
He’d been meaning to start doing a couple of these a month, so his office staff hadn’t thought there was anything strange when he’d told them to clear his schedule for today. Of course, they weren’t to know what he was trying to deny to himself—that he hadn’t stopped thinking about one of the Santa Monica store’s employees since the moment he’d dropped her home that first night.
Under different circumstances, there was no question he’d ask her out. That kiss had been beyond amazing and had been on an automatic replay loop in his mind ever since, but he’d also enjoyed her company. He never knew what she was going to say or do next, and that made her fun to be around.
He sighed and stepped from his car. No use wasting energy wanting what he couldn’t have. She worked for him. End of story.
But that didn’t stop him from wondering how this particular store was doing. Despite rejecting Faith’s arrangement himself, he’d been left wondering if her manager was doing all she could for the advancement of her staff if Faith had put in twenty applications to the catalog of standard arrangements and not one had made it through to the head office.
Sure, he’d rejected the one he’d seen last night, but given Faith’s enthusiasm and skill, a good, supportive manager should have found a way to guide her toward a more appropriate arrangement by now. Perhaps even submitted one or two just to encourage her. Yes, it was definitely time he had a closer look at how this store—and the other stores—were doing.
As he stepped through the front door and removed his aviator sunglasses, the manager, Mary O’Donnell, looked up and waved enthusiastically.
“Mr. Hawke!” she called, her voice obsequious. “So good to see you. Here, Faith, take over this arrangement. I need to talk to Mr. Hawke.”
At the mention of his name, Faith froze, then looked up like a deer caught in headlights. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and he was assailed by memories of her mouth. Of how incredible it had felt under his. Of how it had opened to allow his tongue entry. Before he could forget all the reasons not to kiss her again, he determinedly drew his gaze to Mary O’Donnell.
“No need,” he said. “I’m here for the day. Don’t stop what you’re doing—I just want to get a feel for the store.”
“You haven’t done an all-day inspection for quite a while.” Mary shot a suspicious glance around the room. “Is there a problem?”
“Just continuing a procedure that worked well for us in the past. I’ve let it slip a bit as we’ve grown, but I’ll be working my way around to all the stores in the coming months.”
“And we’re first?” she asked, pride beaming from her features.
“Yes, you are.” He’d let her think it was a compliment. Plus, it was a much more professional reason than the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about one of her employees.
“Well, in that case, let me introduce you to the team.” She grabbed a middle-aged blonde woman by the wrist and dragged her over. “This is Courtney. She’s our senior florist. If you want any bouquets made to take home at the end of the day, Courtney’s your woman.”
“Good to meet you, Courtney,” he said, shaking her hand.
Courtney smiled openly. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Hawke. Though, if you don’t mind, I need to finish this order before the courier arrives in a few minutes?”
“Of course,” he said and watched her go back to work on one of the long benches. She seemed efficient and nice enough, and the arrangement she was working on was good.
“And this is our other florist, Faith Crawford,” the manager said, pointing in Faith’s direction. He watched the reactions of the other two women closely, checking to see if they knew Faith was the person who’d won the bid at the auction, but neither gave anything away. Interesting. Faith obviously hadn’t told them, and the company grapevine hadn’t caught up with the news yet. Most of the staff from the head office had been at the auction the other night, but even if they’d managed to get a good look at Faith in the dim light, it seemed none had recognized her.
He glanced over at her now. She had a bright yellow Hawke’s Blooms apron covering the halter top he could see peeking out from underneath. Her curly red hair was caught up in a clip on the top of her head. She looked up and he paused, waiting to see her reaction. Her eyes flicked to her manager, then back to him. He wasn’t comfortable with an outright lie to his employees—it was probable that the information would circulate around the company at some point, and he didn’t want to be caught in a lie—but that didn’t mean he had to share all the details of their short history.
“Ms. Crawford and I have met before,” he said as a compromise.
The manager’s eyes darted between them, looking for snippets of information, so he cut her off at the pass. “Do you have an apprentice in this store?”
“Oh, yes. Sharon. But she’s not in until lunchtime on Mondays.”
He nodded and took off his sport coat. Instead of his usual work attire of a business suit, today he’d worn a polo shirt and casual trousers—closer to the clothes the staff in-store wore. “Before she gets here, I’ll do the sweeping and answering the phone. Wherever you need an extra pair of hands.”
Unbidden, his gaze tracked to where Faith worked at her bench, and he found that she’d looked up at him at the same time. Wherever you need an extra pair of hands... He could still feel his hands in her hair, cupping her cheek, under her chin.
A pink flush crept up Faith’s neck to her cheeks, and he knew she was remembering the same thing. He cleared his throat and looked away.
If he was going to make it through the day without letting everyone know he’d kissed his employee, he would have to do better at keeping his thoughts firmly under control.
* * *
It had been two hours since Dylan had appeared in the doorway, looking as if he’d just stepped off a photo shoot for a story entitled “What the Suave CEOs Are Wearing This Season.” She’d spent those two hours trying to pretend he wasn’t in the room, just so she could get her work done.
But every time he swept up the clippings from where she was working, or he handed her a slip of paper with an order that had come in over the phone, she lost the battle and was plunged back into those moments when they’d been in this very spot, at night, alone.
And occasionally, when their eyes met, she thought she saw the same memory lurking in his.
But she couldn’t let herself be sidetracked. She needed to impress the businessman, Mr. Hawke, not the red-blooded Dylan who’d kissed her senseless. Men came and went, but this particular man could help her career. It was Mr. Hawke she needed to impress with what she could do.
They’d had a steady stream of orders in person, over the phone and on their website, and she was glad. It gave her an excuse not to talk to Dylan—no, Mr. Hawke—just yet. He’d sat with Courtney earlier and had a cup of coffee, asking her about her job and ideas for the store, and said he’d be doing the same with all the staff members.
The bell above the door dinged, and she looked up, smiling to see one of her favorite customers.
“Hi, Tom,” she said, heading for the fridge. “How was your weekend?”
“Not long enough,” he said ruefully. “Yours?”
Her eyes flicked to Dylan, who was thumbing through their order book, his dark reddish-brown hair rumpled, his sport coat gone and his tie loosened. His hand hesitated and his chest expanded as if he’d taken a deep breath.
“How about I go with interesting,” she said, turning back to her customer.
Tom laughed. “Sounds as if there’s a story there.”
“My life is never dull.” She reached into the fridge and drew out the assorted foliage she’d put to the side earlier. “I found some fresh mint at the markets this morning, as well as these cute little branches of crab apples. How does that sound?”
“Like a winner. Emmie loved the daisy and rosemary bouquet last week.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dylan watching the conversation and then moving to her elbow. He put his hand out to Tom. “Hi, I’m Dylan Hawke, CEO of the Hawke’s Blooms retail chain.”
“Wow, the big boss,” Tom said, winking at Faith.
Dylan turned to her. “You bought crab apples and mint yourself for this bouquet?” His tone was mild, but his focus had narrowed in on her like a laser pointer. “This sounds interesting. Can you talk me through the thinking behind your plan?”
Her stomach clenched tight. She’d wanted the attention of the businessman side of him, and now she had it, which was great. But if he thought what she was doing was too bizarre, then she might have lost her chance to win his approval. A second strike against her in a row might be too much to overcome.
All she could do was paste on a smile and do her job.
“Tom comes in each Monday to pick up some flowers for his wife,” she said, her gaze on the work her hands were doing. “Emmie is blind, so I always put some thought into combinations that she can enjoy.”
“You picked up the mint on your way in?” Dylan asked, his tone not giving anything away.
She nodded. “Monday mornings I leave home a bit earlier and drop in at the flower markets, looking for some inspiration. We usually go outside the standard range of flowers that the store stocks to get the right elements for Emmie’s bouquet. I like something fragrant—” she picked up the mint “—and something tactile—” she pointed to the crab apple branch “—along with the usual assortment of flowers.”
She cast a glance at the buckets bursting with bright blooms around them, looking for inspiration. Something white, perhaps?
Dylan raised an eyebrow and she hesitated. Maybe he didn’t like florists going this far off the beaten track? Her manager hadn’t been particularly supportive and always complained if she tried to get reimbursement for the extras from petty cash, but Faith loved the challenge of something new each week, and the fact that Tom wanted to do this for his wife always melted her heart. Were there other men like Tom in the world? Men who were so dedicated to bringing a smile to the faces of the women they loved that they’d go the extra mile every single week? That sort of constancy was a beautiful thing to be a part of.
Perhaps Dylan Hawke didn’t see the situation the same way. She held a sprig of mint out to him. “If that’s okay, Mr. Hawke?”
“More than okay,” he said, taking the mint and lifting it to his nose. “I think it’s a great example of customer service.”
Dylan’s approving gaze rested on her, and her shoulders relaxed as relief flowed through her veins. But she was also aware that his approval was having more of an effect than it should...
As she worked, he blended into the background, but she felt his eyes on her the entire time she was making the crab apple, mint and white carnation arrangement. After Tom left, pleased with the results, Dylan cornered her near the cash register.
“Please tell me you get reimbursed for those extras you purchase on Monday mornings,” he said, his voice low.
She maintained a poker face. Getting her manager into trouble was a quick route to reduced hours, but she couldn’t lie, either. He could check the store’s accounting books and find that she hadn’t asked for reimbursement after the first few times, not since Mary had finally put her foot down and said she should use stock that was already in the store. And being caught in a lie by the CEO would be even less healthy for her career than not covering for her immediate manager.
“Sure, but sometimes I forget to hand the receipts in,” she said in what she hoped was a casual, believable tone.
“I see,” he said, and she had a feeling he really did see.
“I don’t mind paying for those extras,” she said quickly. “I know I should only use what we have in stock, but I get such a kick out of Tom’s expression when he knows he’s taking home something Emmie will love. It’s like a present I can give them.”
“It’s your job, Faith. You shouldn’t have to pay money to do your job.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you have the receipt from this morning?”
She picked up her handbag from under the counter and dug around until she found the crumpled bit of paper. “Here,” she said, passing it to him.
Their hands brushed, and she couldn’t help the slight gasp that escaped at the contact. Tingles radiated from the place they’d touched, and she yearned to reach out and touch him again. On his hand, or his forearm. Or—she looked up to his face—the cheek she’d stroked with her fingertips when they’d kissed. His eyes darkened.
“Faith,” he said, his voice a rasp, “we can’t.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Then don’t—”
“Anything I can help you with, Mr. Hawke?” Mary asked from behind them.
Without missing a beat, Dylan turned, his charming smile firmly in place, where only seconds before she’d seen something real, something raw.
“I was just chastising your florist about not submitting her receipts for the extras she’s been buying for that customer’s weekly order.” He handed over the receipt. “Ms. Crawford has promised she’ll turn them in to you from now on, haven’t you, Ms. Crawford?”
“Ah, yes,” Faith said, not meeting her manager’s eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another order to make up.”
She slipped away and left them to their discussion, finally able to take a full breath again only when she was immersed in her next arrangement. This day couldn’t end soon enough. He was too close here. In her space. Making her want him.
Yet even if he weren’t the owner of the company, the last man she could give her heart to was a man whose love life had no stability. She’d heard the rumors about Dylan, that he changed female companions regularly, never seeming to form attachments. She couldn’t fall for someone like that—she wouldn’t do it to herself. She’d spend the entire time waiting for the moment he’d move on. Better to stay independent and create stability by relying on herself.
She repeated the words to herself over and over while she worked, the whole time trying to ignore her body’s awareness of where he was in the room. And resisting the urge to walk over and touch him again.
Three (#ulink_967e22b3-164f-5da5-80b6-6d539c15c117)
By late afternoon, Dylan was back in his office, staring out the window at the LA skyline. He had achieved what he’d set out to that morning—a detailed understanding of how the Santa Monica store was operating. He’d managed to sit down with all four employees during the day and chat about their perceptions and ideas, and had seen for himself that the customers were pleased with the floral arrangements being produced.
He’d also discovered one other thing—this fledgling attraction for Faith Crawford wasn’t going to fade away. From the moment he arrived, he’d fought to stop his gaze traveling to her. Wherever she was in the store, he could feel her. And occasionally he’d caught her watching him with more than an employee’s interest. His heart picked up speed now just thinking about it.
He’d cursed the Fates that he’d had to meet her while she worked for him.
He’d also noticed she was far from an average employee. He’d been taking orders over the phone and in person all day from people who wanted only an arrangement made by Faith. When he’d tried to suggest that another florist serve them, they’d said they’d wait. And he could see why. Her arrangements were spectacular. Why had she made such a conservative design the night she’d tried to impress him? When she was in her element, her work was original and beautiful. They were designs he wanted in the catalog so florists in the other stores were reproducing them.
And the bouquet she’d made using mint and crab apples for the man to give his blind wife had been the most cutting-edge design Dylan had seen in a long time. He liked it when staff went the extra mile for customers, adding that personal touch, and her customers seemed to appreciate it. In fact, just about everything about Faith impressed him. On every level, from the professional to the personal to the physical...
His skin heated.
Shaking his head, he focused back on the professional.
Faith Crawford was someone with a lot of potential. And he wanted to help her reach that potential for the benefit of Hawke’s Blooms, and because he really wanted to see Faith get her just rewards. That manager of hers wasn’t going to recognize her talents anytime soon, despite the overwhelming evidence under her nose.
He grabbed the phone on his desk and dialed Human Resources. “Anne, do you have a minute?” he asked when the head of HR picked up.
“Sure. What do you need, Dylan?”
“I did an impromptu inspection at the Santa Monica store today.”
“Great,” she said brightly. “You always bring back good feedback when you do one of those. What do you have for me?”
He dug one hand in his trouser pocket and looked out over the skyline. “One of the florists there has a lot of potential, and I want to do something about that.”
“What was her name?”
“Faith Crawford,” he said, ensuring his voice was even and didn’t give away his reaction to her.
There was a pause, and he could hear fingers tapping on a keyboard as Anne brought up Faith’s file. “What do you have in mind?”
“Her work is good. Really good. Original and creative. But in the interest of full disclosure, I should let you know that Faith is the person who bought the dates with me at the trust’s bachelor auction.”
“I was sorry to miss that night, it sounded like a lot of fun,” Anne said, chuckling. “So how do you want to handle this from here?”
He rubbed a hand through his hair. “She’s got a lot of potential, and I want to see Hawke’s Blooms benefit from that, but I don’t want any suggestion that she bought her way into a promotion. How about you get someone else to go out and assess her? Don’t tell them that the idea came from me, just let them go to the Santa Monica store without any preconceptions and see her work.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange and let you know.”
“Thanks, Anne.”
He hung up the phone, feeling very satisfied with his day’s work. The only thing that could make it better was to be the one who actually gave Faith the promotion, so he could be there when she found out about it. But he didn’t want her to think this had anything to do with their kiss, so it was better that she had a fair and independent assessment first. He had no doubt that whoever did that would see what he’d seen and recommend her for something more senior.
But still, a good day’s work indeed. He smiled, thinking about Faith’s reaction. She was going to be over the moon.
* * *
As Faith picked out a long-stemmed apricot rose from the bucket at her feet, Mary appeared across the bench from her with a folded piece of paper in her hand.
“I’ve just had a call from head office about you,” she said, her voice accusing.
Faith stopped what she was doing and looked up. “About me personally?”
Besides the initial paperwork when she’d started at the store, she hadn’t had any direct dealings with the head office other than the impersonal pay slips. She wiped her hands on her apron and waited.
Mary planted her hands on her hips. “Have you been talking to the head office without my knowledge?”
“Of course not,” Faith said, and then realized she’d been talking to Dylan on the weekend without her manager knowing. And would be talking to him again about their next two dates. But he had her phone number—he wouldn’t be contacting her via her manager.
Hands still on her hips, Mary lifted her chin as she spoke. “It was Anne in Human Resources. They’re offering you a promotion.”
Faith’s breath caught. Hang on...
“A promotion?” she repeated, trying to make sense of it.
“To the head office.” Mary thrust the piece of paper at her. “They emailed the details.”
Faith took the paper but didn’t want to open it in front of the entire store. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said and went out the back door to the lane. Then she opened the folded email printout.
It was a formal letter of promotion to the head office. To a desk job. She scanned the list of duties and found they were all things that didn’t involve customers. Or flowers.
Frustration started simmering in her belly. She’d spent most of her life being told what would happen to her. Announcements would come that she’d be moving to another family member’s house the next week, that she’d have to change schools, that her father would be visiting and taking her to a theme park, that he would be returning her to yet another relative afterward. The best thing about being an adult was that she was in charge of her own life.
So getting notice out of the blue saying she was being moved to a desk job that she hadn’t applied for and certainly didn’t want was particularly unwelcome.
She was ambitious, yes, but not for just any promotion. She had a very clear vision of what she wanted in her career, and this job—being stuck in a boring office, away from customers and the daily joy of working with flowers—wasn’t it.
Besides, was this really out of the blue?
She’d kissed the CEO, and in less than a week he’d come to the store for a full-day inspection—something the others said he used to do, but hadn’t done since she’d been working there. And now a promotion.
What was Dylan Hawke really up to?
The thought made her uneasy, so she went back through the door and told Mary that she was declining the offer.
* * *
Dylan drove into the parking lot of the Santa Monica store for the third time in a week, still not sure what to make of the call he’d had from Anne telling him Faith had turned down the promotion. With all her ambition, he’d expected her to leap at the opportunity. So, surprised and intrigued, he’d jumped into his car to talk to her face-to-face.
As he walked through the door, Mary dropped what she was doing and headed for him, her face covered in a fawning smile. Faith wasn’t in sight, and he was more disappointed than he should have been at not seeing an employee.
Then she walked in from the cold room, carrying a bucket full of flowers. She was wearing black biker boots that almost reached her knees and a bright purple dress that peeked out around the yellow Hawke’s Blooms apron. Her wild hair was caught up on top of her head and sprang out in all directions. He only barely resisted a smile—this woman was a force of nature.
Her step faltered when she saw him.
“Mr. Hawke!” Mary said when she reached him, darting suspicious glances at Faith. “Twice in one week. We’re honored.”
He paused before answering. He hadn’t planned what he should say here—how had the offer of the promotion gone down at the store level? Should he mention it now, or play it cool for the moment? He glanced across at her as she pulled stems one by one from the bucket. His gut was telling him not to mention it until he’d at least spoken to Faith.
He smiled at Mary. “I just have a few follow-up questions from the other day.”
“Well, I’m at your service,” she said, untying the apron strings at her back. “Would you like to talk here, or perhaps at the café next door?”
“Actually, I’d like to talk to Faith if she has a few minutes.”
Faith’s hands stilled and her face grew pale. He was torn between wanting to reassure her and wanting to demand an explanation. Instead, he turned an expectant expression to Mary.
“Of course, Mr. Hawke. If that’s what you want.” But her face was sour. She really didn’t like Faith getting more attention than her.
“Excellent.” He smiled and rocked back on his heels. “You mentioned a café next door?”
Mary’s mouth opened and closed again. “Er, yes. Courtney can finish that order. Faith. Can you come and talk to Mr. Hawke, please?”
“Certainly,” Faith said, wiping her hands on her apron and removing it. The entire time, she kept her gaze down.
“Thank you,” he said to Mary, and then opened the door for Faith and followed her out onto the pavement.
“Have I just made things difficult for you in there?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. “Nothing I can’t deal with.”
He was beginning to see how true that was. Faith Crawford was most definitely her own woman. From bidding on the CEO of her company at a charity auction to get his attention for her work, to turning down a promotion most of his staff would jump at and not bowing to the head office... The more he got to know this woman, the more he liked her.
They found a secluded booth at the café and ordered coffees.
“I heard you were offered a promotion.” He leaned back and rested his arm along the top of the padded vinyl booth. “You turned it down.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “You heard I was offered the job? Are you sure you don’t mean you arranged for me to be offered the job?”
He grinned. The fact that she spoke her mind was a very attractive feature. “Okay, I might have had a hand in it. After watching you in the store for a day, I realized your potential was being underutilized, and I implemented a plan to rectify that.”
“Is that all it was?” She arched an eyebrow and waited.
“You think it’s about more?” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his pulse picked up speed. “You think you were being promoted because I’d kissed you?”
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Rachel Bailey
What happens when an ambitious employee buys her boss at a bachelor auction? Find out in this story from USA TODAY bestselling author Rachel Bailey!Florist Faith Crawford has a brilliant plan–win her company's CEO at a bachelor auction and use their "date" to show him her designs. But her plan backfires when the focus of their meeting shifts from flowers to a floor-tilting kiss.For Dylan Hawke, it's time for damage control. Promoting the talented Faith is a no-brainer, but fraternizing with her is strictly forbidden. Dylan must remain professional–the fate of his business rests in the balance. Too bad Dylan won't rest until he gets another kiss…
As Dylan drew away, Faith tried to catch her breath.
It seemed he was doing the same. Except she wasn’t sure she’d ever get her breath back again—that kiss was unlike anything she’d experienced before. In fact, if she just leaned forward a little, she could experience it again…
And then the enormity of the situation hit her.
She’d just kissed her boss.
Or he’d kissed her—she wasn’t sure about the details of what had just happened. All she knew was she’d never been kissed with that much hunger. That much passion. That much mind-numbing skill. That it had been her employer, someone she shouldn’t have been kissing in the first place, was a cruel twist of irony. If she’d screwed up her well-ordered plan, or caused him to not take her seriously, she’d never forgive herself.
“Faith,” he said, his voice a rasp. “I’m sorry. That was completely out of line.”
Honesty compelled her to point out the truth. “You weren’t there alone.”
* * *
Bidding on Her Boss is part of The Hawke Brothers trilogy: Three tycoon bachelors, three very special mergers…
Bidding on Her Boss
Rachel Bailey
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
RACHEL BAILEY developed a serious book addiction at a young age (via Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck), and has never recovered. Just how she likes it. She went on to earn degrees in psychology and social work but is now living her dream—writing romance for a living.
She lives in a piece of paradise on Australia’s Sunshine Coast with her hero and four dogs, where she loves to sit with a dog or two, overlooking the trees and reading books from her evergrowing to-be-read pile.
Rachel would love to hear from you and can be contacted through her website, www.rachelbailey.com (http://www.rachelbailey.com).
This book is dedicated to Sharon Archer, who is not only an amazing author, but is also a brilliant critique partner and very dear friend. Sharon, thank you for being on this journey with me.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_9430ddf8-9c7b-5cc6-899b-d121de3d6514)
Huge thanks to Charles Griemsman for his editing and support with this book—Charles, it’s always a pleasure to work with you. Also, thank you to Barbara DeLeo and Amanda Ashby for the brainstorming and help, and to John for always supporting my dreams.
Contents
Cover (#u95818271-e1fd-5626-bc82-366412afc024)
Introduction (#u7a92bd97-a159-5f17-bbd8-cada824b5864)
Title Page (#u9efd6f56-aefd-5773-873e-fff780d21164)
About the Author (#u40cd6dfc-15d5-5e7d-a7b3-285686e05ebf)
Dedication (#udb87d8b4-3c56-540d-aa0a-0cdd6208d8c2)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_4cff857b-cb4d-56a7-af37-8c00c015c6bb)
One (#ulink_b8cfbfdb-0dba-539f-9be5-cea0a6e86f0f)
Two (#ulink_b67e9ca0-4e25-56c5-bf5c-88ee9f4be3ee)
Three (#ulink_bb78c5bf-0cdf-5f57-b672-69cad7bde863)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ulink_00dce5bd-3e40-5751-a91d-42bfd28d69da)
Dylan Hawke had done a few things he regretted in his life, but he had a feeling this one might top the list.
The spotlight shone in his eyes, but he smiled as he’d been instructed and gave a sweeping bow before making his way down the stairs and onto the stage. Applause—and a few cheers that he suspected were from his family—greeted him.
“We’ll start the bidding at two hundred dollars,” the emcee said from the front of the stage.
Dylan sucked in a breath. And so it begins. Step one of rehabilitating his image—donate his time to charity. Now that his brother was marrying a princess, Dylan’s own mentions in the media had skyrocketed, and he’d quickly realized his playboy reputation could be a disadvantage for his future sister-in-law and the things she wanted to achieve for homeless children in LA.
“What do I hear for Dylan?” the emcee, a sitcom actor, called out. “Dylan Hawke is the man behind the chain of Hawke’s Blooms florists, so we can guarantee he knows about romancing his dates.”
A murmur went around the crowded room as several white paddles with black numbers shot into the air. He couldn’t see too much detail past the spotlight that shone down on him, but it seemed that the place was full, and that the waiters were keeping the guests’ drinks topped off as they moved through the crowd.
“Two fifty, three hundred,” the emcee called.
Dylan spotted his brother Liam sitting with his fiancée, Princess Jensine of Larsland. Jenna—who had been hiding incognito as Dylan’s housekeeper before she met Liam—gave him a thumbs-up. This was the first fund-raising event of the new charity, the Hawke Brothers Trust, which Jenna had established to raise money for homeless children. Now that she and Liam were to be married, they planned to split their family’s time between her homeland and LA, and the trust would utilize the skills she’d gained growing up in a royal family. It would be the perfect project for her—she’d said it was something she could sink her teeth into.
Dylan believed in the cause and believed in Jenna, so his job tonight was to help raise as much money as he could. He just wished he’d been able to do it in a less humiliating way. Like, say, writing a check.
But that method wouldn’t help rehabilitate his image.
Which had led him to this moment. On stage in front of hundreds of people. Being sold.
“Five hundred and fifty,” the emcee said, pointing at a redhead near the side of the room, whose paddle said sixty-three.
Dylan threw Sixty-Three a wink, and then crossed to where a blonde woman held up her paddle. The emcee called, “Six hundred.”
Dylan squinted against the lights. There was something familiar about the blonde... Then it hit him and his gut clenched tight. It was Brittany Oliver, a local network weather girl. They’d been out two or three times a few years ago, but she’d been cloying. When he found out that she was already planning a future and children for them, he’d broken it off. He swallowed hard and sent up a prayer that someone outbid her. Maybe the cute redhead with paddle sixty-three.
He dug one hand in his pocket and flashed a charming smile at the audience—a smile he’d been using to effect since he was fourteen. He was rewarded when a stunning woman with long dark hair and coffee-colored skin raised her paddle. He was starting not to mind being on stage after all.
“Six fifty,” the emcee called. “Seven hundred dollars. Seven fifty.”
He knew Jenna was hoping for a big amount from this auction to get their charity started with a bang, so he took the rosebud from his buttonhole and threw it into the crowd. It was a cheesy move, but then the bidding happened so quickly that all of a sudden it hit two thousand.
Dylan steeled himself and looked over at Brittany, and sure enough, she was still in the running. He had no idea whether she’d want to chew his ear off for breaking things off or try to convince him they should get back together. Either way, it would be an uncomfortable evening. He should have had a backup plan—a signal to tell Jenna to bid whatever it took if things went awry. He could have reimbursed her later.
“Three thousand four hundred.”
It was the redhead. Dylan looked her over. Bright copper hair scraped into a curly ponytail on top of her head, cobalt blue halter top, dark eyes that were wide as she watched the other bidders, and a bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. She looked adorable. In his pocket where the audience couldn’t see, he crossed his fingers that she won. He could spend an enjoyable evening with her, a nice meal, maybe a drive to a moonlit lookout, maybe a movie.
“Four thousand six hundred.”
A flash bulb went off and he smiled, but he needed to get the bidding higher for the trust. He ambled over to the emcee and indicated with a tilt of his head that he had something to say. She covered the mic with her hand and lowered it.
“Make it three dates,” he said, his voice low.
Her eyebrows shot up, and then she nodded and raised the mic again. “I’ve just received information that the package up for auction now consists of three dates.”
Over the next few minutes, there was another flurry of raised paddles before the emcee finally said, “Going once, going twice, sold for eight thousand two hundred dollars.”
Dylan realized he’d stopped following the bidding and had no idea who’d won.
“Number sixty-three, you can meet Mr. Hawke at the side of the stage to make arrangements. Next we have a sports star who will need no introduction.” The emcee’s voice faded into the background as Dylan realized the cute redhead had made the top bid. He grinned.
Maybe turning his reputation around and doing his bit for charity wouldn’t be so bad after all.
* * *
Faith Crawford stood, adjusted the hem of her halter top over her black pants and slipped between the tables to where Dylan Hawke was waiting for her by the side of the stage.
Her belly fluttered like crazy but she steeled herself and, when she reached him, stuck out her hand.
“Hi, I’m Faith,” she said.
Dylan took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back. “I’m Dylan, and, on behalf of my family, I appreciate your donation to the Hawke Brothers Trust.”
He gave her a slow smile and her insides melted, but she tried to ignore her body’s reaction. Her body didn’t realize that Dylan Hawke was a notorious charmer who had probably used that exact smile on countless women. Which was why her brain was in charge. Well, she thought as she looked into his twinkling green eyes, mostly in charge.
Dylan released her hand and straightened. “I have a few ideas about places we could go on our first date—”
Faith shook her head. “I know where I want to go.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Okay, then. I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
Oh, she knew exactly what she wanted. And it wasn’t Dylan Hawke, despite how good he looked in that tuxedo. It was what he could do for her career. She’d just made a large investment in her future—having bid most of her savings—and she wouldn’t let it go to waste.
He slid a pen out of an inside pocket of his jacket and grabbed a napkin from a nearby table. “Write down your address and I’ll pick you up. How does tomorrow night sound?”
The sooner the better. “Tomorrow is good. But instead of picking me up, I’d rather meet you. Let’s say in front of your Santa Monica store at seven?”
He grinned, but this time it wasn’t a charmer’s smile. It was genuine. She liked this one more—she could imagine getting into all sorts of mischief with the man wearing that grin.
“A woman of mystery,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Nice. Okay, Faith Sixty-Three, I’ll meet you in front of the Santa Monica Hawke’s Blooms store at seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be there,” she said and then turned and walked along the edge of the room to the door, aware that several curious gazes followed her exit. Including Dylan Hawke’s. Which was just how she needed him—with his full attention focused on her.
Now all she had to do was keep her own attention soundly focused on her career, and not on getting into mischief with her date and his grin.
* * *
Dylan pulled his Porsche into the small parking lot in front of his Santa Monica store. He tried to get around to all thirty-two stores fairly regularly, but given that they were spread from San Francisco to San Diego, it didn’t happen as often as it used to, and he couldn’t remember exactly when he was last at this one. It looked good, though, and he knew the sales figures were in the top quarter of all the Hawke’s Blooms stores.
Movement near the door caught his attention. It was Faith. Her red hair gleamed in the window lights and bounced about her shoulders. She wore a halter-neck summer dress that was fitted in all the right places and flared out over her hips, down to her knees, showing shapely calves atop stylish heels. His pulse picked up speed as he stepped out of his car.
All he knew about this woman was that she liked halter tops, her hair could stop traffic, she was wealthy enough to have spare cash lying around to help out a new charity and her lips could set his blood humming. But damn if he didn’t want to know more.
“Evening, Faith,” he said, walking around and opening his passenger side door.
She didn’t take a step closer, just stood at the shop door looking adorable and said, “We won’t be needing your car tonight.”
He glanced around—the parking lot was empty. “You have a magic carpet tucked away somewhere?”
“No need,” she said brightly. “We’re already here.”
She dug into her bag and came out with a handful of keys looped together on what looked like plaited ribbons. As he watched in surprise, she stuck a key into the front door, and he heard a click. She stepped in, efficiently disabled the alarm and turned back to him. “Come on in.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes, half expecting one of his brothers to jump out and yell “gotcha” because he’d fallen for the prank. But Faith was busy putting her bag behind the counter and switching on lights. Shaking his head, he set the keyless lock on his car, followed her into the store and closed the door behind them. He had no idea what she had planned or what she really wanted out of this date, but for some reason that didn’t bother him. This woman was piquing his interest on more than one level—something he hadn’t experienced in a long while—and he realized he was enjoying the sensation.
“Who are you, Faith Sixty-Three?” he asked, leaning back against the counter and appreciating the way her dress hugged her lush curves.
She faced him then, her cheeks flushed and her warm brown eyes sparkling. “I’m a florist. My name is Faith Crawford and I work for you in this store.”
Faith Crawford? That name rang a bell, but he couldn’t remember any specifics. He narrowed his eyes. “Mary O’Donnell is the manager here, isn’t she?”
“Yep, she’s my manager,” Faith said over her shoulder as she turned the light on in the storeroom in the back of the shop.
He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. This had gone past Woman of Mystery and was fast becoming ridiculous. Why would an employee want to spend a purseful of money on a night or three with the boss? Could she have an axe to grind? Was she hoping to sleep her way to a promotion?
He blew out a breath. “How long have you worked for me?”
She turned to face him, standing a little taller. “Six months, Mr. Hawke.”
“So you know Hawke’s Blooms has a no fraternization policy.” A policy he wholeheartedly believed in. “Managers can’t be involved with anyone who works for them.”
She didn’t seem fazed. “I’m aware of that, yes.”
“Yet,” he pressed, taking a step closer and catching a whiff of her exotic perfume, “you still paid good money for a date—well, three dates—with me.”
A small frown line appeared between her brows. “Nowhere was it specified that they were supposed to be romantic dates with the bachelors.”
Dylan was about to reply, then realized he was losing control of the conversation. “Then what do you want from me?” he asked warily.
She grabbed a clip from her handbag and pulled her hair back. “I want you to spend the evening here with me.”
“Doing what, exactly?” he asked as he watched her clip her red curls, which burst out the top of the clasp in copper-colored chaos.
“Watching.”
He felt his eyebrows lift. “I have to warn you, kinky propositions still fall under the no fraternization policy.”
Faith rolled her eyes, but he saw the corners of her mouth twitch. “I’ll be making a floral arrangement.”
Right. As if he didn’t get enough of that in his average day. And yet, he thought, glancing at her pale, long fingers, there was something appealing about the idea of watching Faith at work. Her fingers looked as if they’d be gentle yet firm. He could almost feel them on his jaw, then stroking across his shoulders. His skin tingled...and he realized he was getting carried away. This was not a path he could take with an employee—which he’d only just explained to her.
Besides, his attraction was probably a result of being in the store at night, alone, cocooned in the area illuminated by the lights. It couldn’t be more.
He rubbed a hand down his face. “Let me get this straight. I know what you’re earning, so unless you have a trust fund, your bid was a decent amount of money to you. Yet you paid it to have me sit and watch you do the job that we normally pay you to do.”
She beamed at him. “That’s it.”
“I’ve missed something,” he said, tilting his head to the side. She was becoming more intriguing by the minute.
She opened the fridge door and pulled out buckets of peonies, lilacs and magnolias. “Have you ever had a dream, Mr. Hawke? Something that was all yours and made you smile when you thought about it?”
Dylan frowned. His career dreams had always been for Hawke’s Blooms, but they were dreams he shared with his family. Had he ever had one that was his alone?
“Sure,” he said casually, knowing it was probably a lie and unsure how he felt about that.
While looking at him, she began to strip the leaves from the flower stems. “Then you know how it is.”
As he took in the glow on her face, his pulse picked up speed. “What’s your dream, Faith?”
She smiled mysteriously. “I have many dreams, but there’s one in particular I’m trying to achieve now.”
He met her gaze and the room faded away. He could have looked at her all night. Then her eyes darkened. Her breathing became irregular. Dylan wanted to groan. She felt the chemistry between them as well. His body responded to the knowledge, tightening, heating. But he couldn’t let that happen. This was dangerous. He frowned and swung away.
“Tell me about the dream,” he said when he turned back around, this time more in control of himself.
After a beat, Faith gave a small nod. “To open the Hawke’s Blooms catalog and see one of my designs there on the page.”
This was all about the catalog? He leaned back against the bench opposite the one Faith was working on and crossed his ankles. “We have a procedure in place for that.”
“I know it by heart,” she said, taking foam and a white tray down from the shelf. “‘Any Hawke’s Blooms florist may submit an original floral design to his or her manager, accompanied by a completed, signed application form. If the manager believes the design has merit, she or he will pass it to the head office to be considered for inclusion in the catalog of standard floral designs used for customer orders.’”
Dylan smiled. She’d recited the procedure word for word. “And,” he added, “that process doesn’t cost a single penny. Why didn’t you go that route?”
“I did.” She clipped the bottoms from a bunch of peony stems. “About twenty times, in fact. After my manager rejected number sixteen, I began to think that way might not work for me.” She smiled and her dimples showed.
He thought about her manager, Mary O’Donnell. Mary was simpering to management, which was annoying, but he knew she ran a tight ship. Was it possible she was blocking her own staff from advancement? “Are you making a complaint about your manager?” he asked, serious.
She shook her head, and her hands slowed to a stop as she met his gaze. “I’m a good florist, Mr. Hawke. I take pride in my work, and take direction from my manager. I do my best by our customers and have a good group of regulars who ask for me by name. So I don’t think it’s too much to ask to have just one of my designs considered so I can move my career forward.”
Dylan knew he was lucky—he’d grown up in the family business, where his input had been not only listened to but also encouraged. But what if he’d been in Faith’s shoes? An employee of a large company who was struggling to have her voice heard. He watched her place flowers in the foam, turning the arrangement with the other hand as she went. He’d like to think he’d have gone the extra mile, the way Faith was doing tonight.
“So you decided to get creative,” he said, hearing the trace of admiration in his own voice.
“Seeing you were auctioning off a night of your time seemed like a sign.” She glanced up at him, her long-lashed eyes earnest. “Do you believe in destiny, Mr. Hawke?”
“Can’t say it’s something I’ve ever paid much attention to,” he said. Unlike, say, the way the side of her jaw sloped down to her neck, or the sprinkling of pale ginger freckles across her nose.
“Well, I do, and I’d just been thinking ‘If only I could speak to someone in the head office myself’ when the posters for the auction went up in the window. The very window where I work.” She paused, moistening her lips. “You can see it was too strong a sign to ignore, can’t you?”
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to chuckle or to kiss those full lips her tongue had darted over. Instead, he murmured, “I suppose so.”
“So I attended the auction, used a good portion of my savings, and here we are.” She splayed her free hand to emphasize her point, and then picked up a roll of ribbon and went back to what she was doing.
Dylan shifted his weight. Something about this situation and her confidence was beginning to make him uncomfortable. After she’d spent that amount of money—which he’d reimburse now that he knew she was an employee trying to get a meeting with him—and she’d gone to this much effort, how would she react if he agreed with her manager?
“Tell me, Faith,” he said carefully. “What happens if, after all this effort and expense, I don’t like your design enough to put it in the catalog?”
She looked him in the eye again. There was no artifice, no game playing in her deep brown gaze. “Then I’ll know I’ve given it my best shot, and I’ll work harder to create an even better design.”
Dylan nodded. She believed in herself but didn’t have a sense of entitlement and was prepared to put in the work to improve her situation. He liked her attitude. In fact, there were a number of things he liked about Faith Crawford—including things he shouldn’t allow himself to like now that he knew she worked for him. Such as the crazy hair that his fingers were itching to explore, and the way her sweet-shaped mouth moved as she spoke.
There was also a vibrancy about her that dragged his gaze back every time he looked away. How would it feel to hold all that vibrancy in his arms? Her kisses would be filled with passion, he just knew it, and in his bed... Dylan held back a groan and determinedly refocused on Faith’s floristry skills.
Her movements were quick and economical but still flowed, almost as if her hands were dancing. He’d had a stab at displaying flowers in the past but hadn’t pulled off more than rudimentary arrangements. It had been enough for the roadside stall his family had started the business with but hadn’t come close to what a florist with training and flair could create. Yet having been around professional florists for his entire adult life, he was good at spotting skill in someone else.
He could already tell that Faith didn’t just have the training all florists employed by Hawke’s Blooms stores required. She also had that indefinable, creative something that differentiated the great from the good. Whether she’d harnessed that talent, and was able to use it to create designs of the standard needed to be included in the catalog, was yet to be seen.
But if nothing else, tonight Faith Crawford had achieved one thing she’d set out to achieve—she definitely had his full attention.
In fact, he was having trouble looking anywhere but at her.
* * *
Faith added another peony to the arrangement and tried to ignore the prickles on the back of her neck that told her Dylan was watching her again. Of course, that’s what the whole night had been engineered to achieve, but he was only sometimes following what her hands were doing. At other times...
Heat rose in her belly as she thought about the way he’d been staring at her mouth a few minutes ago. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her with that much hunger. Especially a man she’d been wanting to wrap herself around and kiss as if there was no tomorrow ever since he’d stepped out of his sex-on-wheels car.
And that it had to be Dylan Hawke, the CEO of the company? Well, that was fate playing a cruel joke on her. So she pretended that she wasn’t wildly attracted to the man in front of her and that he wasn’t sending her the same signals. She focused on the flowers. Which was working out fairly well, except for the prickles on the back of her neck.
But she needed to concentrate, to stop letting herself be distracted. Ruthlessly she reminded herself of what was at stake: getting this right could mean a fantastic boost to her career. She turned the arrangement with quick flicks of her wrist, checking for symmetry. Just a few stray leaves to trim. She snipped them away carefully. It looked good, balanced in color and form...but was it special enough to go into the catalog? She’d controlled her wilder artistic urges and gone for a safer conservative arrangement to impress. Butterflies fluttered mercilessly in her stomach. For the first time, she realized how much Mary’s criticism had dented her confidence in her creativity.
She reached out to touch a crisp green leaf. This arrangement was finished—but still she hesitated.
“All done?”
She jolted at the sound of Dylan’s voice so close to her ear. Last time she’d been aware of him, he’d been on the other side of the bench. She tried to move to the side. Her foot caught on something and she felt herself begin to fall. A hand closed around her arm, and her almost certain tumble was averted. She closed her eyes, and then opened them to find Dylan staring at her. The picture of him on the company website was nothing like the living, breathing man before her.
With him so close, no more than a hand span away, his scent surrounded her. It was dark and mysterious, surprising. She’d have expected something lighter, more recognizable, perhaps one of the expensive name-brand colognes. Yet this had undertones of a night in the forest—earthy, secretive and alluring. A shiver ran down her body to her toes. Dylan stilled.
Her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the heat from his body reaching out to envelop her. The world receded around her and all she could see, all she could feel, was Dylan. His eyes darkened and she swallowed hard. She should step away, not let her body lead her into temptation. But, oh, what temptation this man was. She could feel her pulse thundering at the base of her throat and saw Dylan’s gaze drop to observe the same thing.
“Faith,” he murmured, his breathing uneven.
She closed her eyes, fighting the effect of hearing her name on his lips, and when she opened them again, he was closer than before, his breath fanning over her face. Her hands found their way to his chest, so solid and warm.
A shudder ran down his body at her touch.
“Please—” she said, and before she could finish the thought his mouth was on hers. A small part of her mind told her to pull away, but instead, her hands fisted in his shirt, not letting him go.
He groaned as she opened her mouth to him, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her close while pushing her back against the workbench. His tongue was like nothing else as it stroked along the side of hers, leaving her wanting more. To be closer. So much closer.
She was lost.
Two (#ulink_34afc37e-2764-5af8-bd9e-ef7cec97da40)
As Dylan drew away, Faith tried to catch her breath. It seemed as if he was doing the same. Except she wasn’t sure she’d ever get her breath back again—that kiss was unlike anything she’d experienced before. In fact, if she just leaned forward a little, she could experience it again...
And then the enormity of the situation hit her, sending her knees wobbling.
She’d just kissed her boss.
No, not her boss—the big boss. She’d just kissed the man with ultimate responsibility for every single Hawke’s Blooms store.
Or he’d kissed her—she wasn’t sure about the details of what had just happened. All she knew was she’d never been kissed with that much hunger. That much passion. That much mind-numbing skill. That it had been her employer, someone she shouldn’t have been kissing in the first place, was a cruel twist of irony. If she’d screwed up her well-ordered plan or caused him to not take her seriously, she’d never forgive herself.
“Faith,” he said, his voice a rasp. “I’m sorry. That was completely out of line.”
Honesty compelled her to point out the truth. “You weren’t there alone.”
“But I’m the one who’s the boss.” He winced. “It’s my responsibility not to cross the damn line. You shouldn’t feel pressured or uncomfortable in your workplace, and I apologize.”
“I don’t feel uncomfortable. Well,” she amended, looking down at her hands, “I didn’t feel uncomfortable or pressured then. I guess I’m uncomfortable now.” She glanced back up, meeting his wary gaze. “But you should know, I wanted to kiss you. Then.”
His head tilted to the side. “But not now?”
“No.” Which was a lie. She definitely wanted to kiss him again. Wanted it more than almost anything. The key was the almost. She wanted a flourishing career more than she wanted to kiss Dylan Hawke again.
He blew out a breath. “That’s a relief, but it’s not enough. It was selfish of me to kiss you when you wanted me here for a completely different purpose. I give you my word it won’t happen again.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, trying to conjure a professional facade.
He was silent for a couple of beats, his gaze assessing. “You seem quite certain, considering you just said you’d wanted me to kiss you only a few minutes ago.”
She wasn’t sure where he was coming from—it didn’t look like flirting, but she couldn’t read him well enough to know. Maybe he was testing her, wanting to ensure she wasn’t going to change her mind and make waves in the company. Whatever it was about, she had to be absolutely clear so he understood her position.
She drew in a breath and lifted her chin. “Boyfriends and lovers aren’t hard to come by, Mr. Hawke. What I need more than a man is someone to appreciate my talent. I hope this isn’t offensive, but I want you professionally more than personally.”
He flashed her a self-deprecating smile. “Understood. Which means I’d better have a look at this arrangement.”
She stood back to give him some room. Everything she’d done recently, from making the plan to attending the auction to spending most of her savings to meeting Dylan here tonight, had led to this moment. It was the do-or-die moment, and all she could do was step back, cross her fingers and hope he’d still give an honest assessment after he’d kissed her.
Dylan dug his hands in his pockets as he faced her arrangement. He moved around, looking at it from several angles before straightening with a grimace.
“That bad?” she asked, her stomach in free fall. “You’re grimacing.”
“No, it’s not bad.” He leaned back against the bench and crossed his arms over his chest. “If I’m not smiling it’s because I really wanted to put your arrangement in the catalog.”
She felt the words like a slap. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them form. “But you’re not going to.”
“I’m sorry, Faith,” he said, his voice gentle. “Especially after...” He gestured toward the other end of the bench, where they’d been when he’d kissed her.
She bit down on her lip. She might feel bad, but she didn’t want him to feel bad as well. He was only doing his job. “Don’t apologize. If it’s not good enough, that’s my problem, not yours.”
“The thing is, it’s good, really good, but it looks a lot like the arrangements that are already in the book. If we add something new, then it needs to be unique. It has to offer our customers a genuine alternative to the options already there, and this arrangement, though beautiful, is—”
“Too much like what they can already choose,” she finished for him, understanding his point, but still deflated.
He moved closer and laid a hand on her shoulder, his eyes kind. “But I’ll reimburse the money you paid at the auction. You shouldn’t have to pay to have an appointment with someone at the head office.”
Her back stiffened. He wasn’t going to wriggle out of this that easily. “I won’t take the money back. I have two more dates left and I plan to use them.”
There was no way she was giving up this direct line to the head of the Hawke’s Blooms stores. It had been a good plan when she’d made it, and it was still a good plan...as long as she hadn’t blown her chances by kissing him.
Sure, tonight hadn’t been the raging success she’d hoped for, but there were two more dates yet. When she set her mind to something, she didn’t give up until she’d achieved it. She’d impress him yet and get one of her arrangements in the catalog.
He dropped his hand and sighed. “The thing is, Faith, I can’t force you to take the money back, but it would be easier for me if you did.”
“Perhaps,” she said and smiled sweetly. “But it wouldn’t be easier for me.”
“Look, can I be honest?”
He thrust the fingers of both hands through his hair and left them there, linking them behind his head. This wasn’t the same man who’d kissed her moments before, or the man who ran an entire chain of retail stores, or even the man who’d confidently strutted the stage at the auction. This one seemed more real.
She nodded. “Please.”
“I’m in the process of trying to rehabilitate my image.” He gave her half a smile, and she tried not to laugh at how adorable he looked now.
“From playboy to the future brother-in-law of a princess?”
He shifted his weight to his other leg. “Yeah, something like that.”
“So to stop people seeing you as a playboy, you auctioned yourself off to the highest bidder?” She jumped up to sit on the bench, enjoying his discomfort more than she would have expected, but also enjoying seeing this private side of him.
He coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, when you put it like that, it sounds crazy.”
Suddenly she was more than intrigued. This man was a mass of contradictions and she wanted to know more. To understand him. “Then how would you put it?”
“I’m throwing myself into our new charity. The auction was only the first step, but I’ll be involved every step of the way.”
“A respectable, upstanding member of the community.” She could see him pulling it off, too. Going from a playboy to a pillar of the community.
“So you can see that the very last thing I need is a scandal involving a staff member, especially given that we have a policy about management being involved with staff.”
A scandal? She frowned. What, exactly, did he think she wanted from those other two dates? “Dylan, I’m not expecting romance on the other dates any more than I expected it on this one.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “But image is everything.”
That was true. She cast her mind around for a solution. There was no way she was giving up her remaining dates without a fight. “What if no one knows? We could do them in secret.”
“That boat pretty much sailed when the auction was covered by the media,” he said and chuckled. Then he sobered and let out a long breath. “But it’s more than that.”
Understanding dawned. “Our kiss changed things.” She said the words softly, as if acknowledging the truth too loudly would make a difference.
He nodded, his gaze not wavering from her eyes. “And it’s very important that I see you only as an employee, and you see me only as a boss.”
“I won’t have any trouble with that. Are you saying you will?” She arched her eyebrow in challenge, guessing Dylan Hawke was a man who didn’t shrink from a challenge.
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “If you can do it, I can.”
“Then it looks like we don’t have a problem, do we?” Knowing he was trapped in the logic of it, she jumped down from the bench and grabbed the trash.
She felt him behind her, not moving, probably assessing his options. Then finally he took the trash can from her and began to sweep stem cuttings together with his free hand.
“It appears you’ve won this round, Faith Sixty-Three,” he said from beside her.
She flashed him a wry smile. “Dylan, if I’d won this round, my design would soon be featured in the catalog. All I’ve done is kept the door open for another round.”
“You know what?” he said, his voice amused. “Even though I know I shouldn’t be, I’m already looking forward to the next round.”
She turned and caught his gaze, finding a potent mix of humor and heat there—something closer to the real man she’d glimpsed earlier. Quickly she turned away. This was going to be hard enough without seeing him as anything more than the head of the Hawke’s Blooms stores. And she had a sinking feeling it might already be too late for that anyway...
* * *
Two days later, Dylan pulled into the parking lot of the Santa Monica store. He hadn’t done an all-day inspection for a while. It used to be part of his management style—show up in the morning unannounced, hang around in the background and help out where he could. Nothing beat it for getting a good feel for how a store was working and what needed improvement.
He’d been meaning to start doing a couple of these a month, so his office staff hadn’t thought there was anything strange when he’d told them to clear his schedule for today. Of course, they weren’t to know what he was trying to deny to himself—that he hadn’t stopped thinking about one of the Santa Monica store’s employees since the moment he’d dropped her home that first night.
Under different circumstances, there was no question he’d ask her out. That kiss had been beyond amazing and had been on an automatic replay loop in his mind ever since, but he’d also enjoyed her company. He never knew what she was going to say or do next, and that made her fun to be around.
He sighed and stepped from his car. No use wasting energy wanting what he couldn’t have. She worked for him. End of story.
But that didn’t stop him from wondering how this particular store was doing. Despite rejecting Faith’s arrangement himself, he’d been left wondering if her manager was doing all she could for the advancement of her staff if Faith had put in twenty applications to the catalog of standard arrangements and not one had made it through to the head office.
Sure, he’d rejected the one he’d seen last night, but given Faith’s enthusiasm and skill, a good, supportive manager should have found a way to guide her toward a more appropriate arrangement by now. Perhaps even submitted one or two just to encourage her. Yes, it was definitely time he had a closer look at how this store—and the other stores—were doing.
As he stepped through the front door and removed his aviator sunglasses, the manager, Mary O’Donnell, looked up and waved enthusiastically.
“Mr. Hawke!” she called, her voice obsequious. “So good to see you. Here, Faith, take over this arrangement. I need to talk to Mr. Hawke.”
At the mention of his name, Faith froze, then looked up like a deer caught in headlights. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and he was assailed by memories of her mouth. Of how incredible it had felt under his. Of how it had opened to allow his tongue entry. Before he could forget all the reasons not to kiss her again, he determinedly drew his gaze to Mary O’Donnell.
“No need,” he said. “I’m here for the day. Don’t stop what you’re doing—I just want to get a feel for the store.”
“You haven’t done an all-day inspection for quite a while.” Mary shot a suspicious glance around the room. “Is there a problem?”
“Just continuing a procedure that worked well for us in the past. I’ve let it slip a bit as we’ve grown, but I’ll be working my way around to all the stores in the coming months.”
“And we’re first?” she asked, pride beaming from her features.
“Yes, you are.” He’d let her think it was a compliment. Plus, it was a much more professional reason than the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about one of her employees.
“Well, in that case, let me introduce you to the team.” She grabbed a middle-aged blonde woman by the wrist and dragged her over. “This is Courtney. She’s our senior florist. If you want any bouquets made to take home at the end of the day, Courtney’s your woman.”
“Good to meet you, Courtney,” he said, shaking her hand.
Courtney smiled openly. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Hawke. Though, if you don’t mind, I need to finish this order before the courier arrives in a few minutes?”
“Of course,” he said and watched her go back to work on one of the long benches. She seemed efficient and nice enough, and the arrangement she was working on was good.
“And this is our other florist, Faith Crawford,” the manager said, pointing in Faith’s direction. He watched the reactions of the other two women closely, checking to see if they knew Faith was the person who’d won the bid at the auction, but neither gave anything away. Interesting. Faith obviously hadn’t told them, and the company grapevine hadn’t caught up with the news yet. Most of the staff from the head office had been at the auction the other night, but even if they’d managed to get a good look at Faith in the dim light, it seemed none had recognized her.
He glanced over at her now. She had a bright yellow Hawke’s Blooms apron covering the halter top he could see peeking out from underneath. Her curly red hair was caught up in a clip on the top of her head. She looked up and he paused, waiting to see her reaction. Her eyes flicked to her manager, then back to him. He wasn’t comfortable with an outright lie to his employees—it was probable that the information would circulate around the company at some point, and he didn’t want to be caught in a lie—but that didn’t mean he had to share all the details of their short history.
“Ms. Crawford and I have met before,” he said as a compromise.
The manager’s eyes darted between them, looking for snippets of information, so he cut her off at the pass. “Do you have an apprentice in this store?”
“Oh, yes. Sharon. But she’s not in until lunchtime on Mondays.”
He nodded and took off his sport coat. Instead of his usual work attire of a business suit, today he’d worn a polo shirt and casual trousers—closer to the clothes the staff in-store wore. “Before she gets here, I’ll do the sweeping and answering the phone. Wherever you need an extra pair of hands.”
Unbidden, his gaze tracked to where Faith worked at her bench, and he found that she’d looked up at him at the same time. Wherever you need an extra pair of hands... He could still feel his hands in her hair, cupping her cheek, under her chin.
A pink flush crept up Faith’s neck to her cheeks, and he knew she was remembering the same thing. He cleared his throat and looked away.
If he was going to make it through the day without letting everyone know he’d kissed his employee, he would have to do better at keeping his thoughts firmly under control.
* * *
It had been two hours since Dylan had appeared in the doorway, looking as if he’d just stepped off a photo shoot for a story entitled “What the Suave CEOs Are Wearing This Season.” She’d spent those two hours trying to pretend he wasn’t in the room, just so she could get her work done.
But every time he swept up the clippings from where she was working, or he handed her a slip of paper with an order that had come in over the phone, she lost the battle and was plunged back into those moments when they’d been in this very spot, at night, alone.
And occasionally, when their eyes met, she thought she saw the same memory lurking in his.
But she couldn’t let herself be sidetracked. She needed to impress the businessman, Mr. Hawke, not the red-blooded Dylan who’d kissed her senseless. Men came and went, but this particular man could help her career. It was Mr. Hawke she needed to impress with what she could do.
They’d had a steady stream of orders in person, over the phone and on their website, and she was glad. It gave her an excuse not to talk to Dylan—no, Mr. Hawke—just yet. He’d sat with Courtney earlier and had a cup of coffee, asking her about her job and ideas for the store, and said he’d be doing the same with all the staff members.
The bell above the door dinged, and she looked up, smiling to see one of her favorite customers.
“Hi, Tom,” she said, heading for the fridge. “How was your weekend?”
“Not long enough,” he said ruefully. “Yours?”
Her eyes flicked to Dylan, who was thumbing through their order book, his dark reddish-brown hair rumpled, his sport coat gone and his tie loosened. His hand hesitated and his chest expanded as if he’d taken a deep breath.
“How about I go with interesting,” she said, turning back to her customer.
Tom laughed. “Sounds as if there’s a story there.”
“My life is never dull.” She reached into the fridge and drew out the assorted foliage she’d put to the side earlier. “I found some fresh mint at the markets this morning, as well as these cute little branches of crab apples. How does that sound?”
“Like a winner. Emmie loved the daisy and rosemary bouquet last week.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dylan watching the conversation and then moving to her elbow. He put his hand out to Tom. “Hi, I’m Dylan Hawke, CEO of the Hawke’s Blooms retail chain.”
“Wow, the big boss,” Tom said, winking at Faith.
Dylan turned to her. “You bought crab apples and mint yourself for this bouquet?” His tone was mild, but his focus had narrowed in on her like a laser pointer. “This sounds interesting. Can you talk me through the thinking behind your plan?”
Her stomach clenched tight. She’d wanted the attention of the businessman side of him, and now she had it, which was great. But if he thought what she was doing was too bizarre, then she might have lost her chance to win his approval. A second strike against her in a row might be too much to overcome.
All she could do was paste on a smile and do her job.
“Tom comes in each Monday to pick up some flowers for his wife,” she said, her gaze on the work her hands were doing. “Emmie is blind, so I always put some thought into combinations that she can enjoy.”
“You picked up the mint on your way in?” Dylan asked, his tone not giving anything away.
She nodded. “Monday mornings I leave home a bit earlier and drop in at the flower markets, looking for some inspiration. We usually go outside the standard range of flowers that the store stocks to get the right elements for Emmie’s bouquet. I like something fragrant—” she picked up the mint “—and something tactile—” she pointed to the crab apple branch “—along with the usual assortment of flowers.”
She cast a glance at the buckets bursting with bright blooms around them, looking for inspiration. Something white, perhaps?
Dylan raised an eyebrow and she hesitated. Maybe he didn’t like florists going this far off the beaten track? Her manager hadn’t been particularly supportive and always complained if she tried to get reimbursement for the extras from petty cash, but Faith loved the challenge of something new each week, and the fact that Tom wanted to do this for his wife always melted her heart. Were there other men like Tom in the world? Men who were so dedicated to bringing a smile to the faces of the women they loved that they’d go the extra mile every single week? That sort of constancy was a beautiful thing to be a part of.
Perhaps Dylan Hawke didn’t see the situation the same way. She held a sprig of mint out to him. “If that’s okay, Mr. Hawke?”
“More than okay,” he said, taking the mint and lifting it to his nose. “I think it’s a great example of customer service.”
Dylan’s approving gaze rested on her, and her shoulders relaxed as relief flowed through her veins. But she was also aware that his approval was having more of an effect than it should...
As she worked, he blended into the background, but she felt his eyes on her the entire time she was making the crab apple, mint and white carnation arrangement. After Tom left, pleased with the results, Dylan cornered her near the cash register.
“Please tell me you get reimbursed for those extras you purchase on Monday mornings,” he said, his voice low.
She maintained a poker face. Getting her manager into trouble was a quick route to reduced hours, but she couldn’t lie, either. He could check the store’s accounting books and find that she hadn’t asked for reimbursement after the first few times, not since Mary had finally put her foot down and said she should use stock that was already in the store. And being caught in a lie by the CEO would be even less healthy for her career than not covering for her immediate manager.
“Sure, but sometimes I forget to hand the receipts in,” she said in what she hoped was a casual, believable tone.
“I see,” he said, and she had a feeling he really did see.
“I don’t mind paying for those extras,” she said quickly. “I know I should only use what we have in stock, but I get such a kick out of Tom’s expression when he knows he’s taking home something Emmie will love. It’s like a present I can give them.”
“It’s your job, Faith. You shouldn’t have to pay money to do your job.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you have the receipt from this morning?”
She picked up her handbag from under the counter and dug around until she found the crumpled bit of paper. “Here,” she said, passing it to him.
Their hands brushed, and she couldn’t help the slight gasp that escaped at the contact. Tingles radiated from the place they’d touched, and she yearned to reach out and touch him again. On his hand, or his forearm. Or—she looked up to his face—the cheek she’d stroked with her fingertips when they’d kissed. His eyes darkened.
“Faith,” he said, his voice a rasp, “we can’t.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Then don’t—”
“Anything I can help you with, Mr. Hawke?” Mary asked from behind them.
Without missing a beat, Dylan turned, his charming smile firmly in place, where only seconds before she’d seen something real, something raw.
“I was just chastising your florist about not submitting her receipts for the extras she’s been buying for that customer’s weekly order.” He handed over the receipt. “Ms. Crawford has promised she’ll turn them in to you from now on, haven’t you, Ms. Crawford?”
“Ah, yes,” Faith said, not meeting her manager’s eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another order to make up.”
She slipped away and left them to their discussion, finally able to take a full breath again only when she was immersed in her next arrangement. This day couldn’t end soon enough. He was too close here. In her space. Making her want him.
Yet even if he weren’t the owner of the company, the last man she could give her heart to was a man whose love life had no stability. She’d heard the rumors about Dylan, that he changed female companions regularly, never seeming to form attachments. She couldn’t fall for someone like that—she wouldn’t do it to herself. She’d spend the entire time waiting for the moment he’d move on. Better to stay independent and create stability by relying on herself.
She repeated the words to herself over and over while she worked, the whole time trying to ignore her body’s awareness of where he was in the room. And resisting the urge to walk over and touch him again.
Three (#ulink_967e22b3-164f-5da5-80b6-6d539c15c117)
By late afternoon, Dylan was back in his office, staring out the window at the LA skyline. He had achieved what he’d set out to that morning—a detailed understanding of how the Santa Monica store was operating. He’d managed to sit down with all four employees during the day and chat about their perceptions and ideas, and had seen for himself that the customers were pleased with the floral arrangements being produced.
He’d also discovered one other thing—this fledgling attraction for Faith Crawford wasn’t going to fade away. From the moment he arrived, he’d fought to stop his gaze traveling to her. Wherever she was in the store, he could feel her. And occasionally he’d caught her watching him with more than an employee’s interest. His heart picked up speed now just thinking about it.
He’d cursed the Fates that he’d had to meet her while she worked for him.
He’d also noticed she was far from an average employee. He’d been taking orders over the phone and in person all day from people who wanted only an arrangement made by Faith. When he’d tried to suggest that another florist serve them, they’d said they’d wait. And he could see why. Her arrangements were spectacular. Why had she made such a conservative design the night she’d tried to impress him? When she was in her element, her work was original and beautiful. They were designs he wanted in the catalog so florists in the other stores were reproducing them.
And the bouquet she’d made using mint and crab apples for the man to give his blind wife had been the most cutting-edge design Dylan had seen in a long time. He liked it when staff went the extra mile for customers, adding that personal touch, and her customers seemed to appreciate it. In fact, just about everything about Faith impressed him. On every level, from the professional to the personal to the physical...
His skin heated.
Shaking his head, he focused back on the professional.
Faith Crawford was someone with a lot of potential. And he wanted to help her reach that potential for the benefit of Hawke’s Blooms, and because he really wanted to see Faith get her just rewards. That manager of hers wasn’t going to recognize her talents anytime soon, despite the overwhelming evidence under her nose.
He grabbed the phone on his desk and dialed Human Resources. “Anne, do you have a minute?” he asked when the head of HR picked up.
“Sure. What do you need, Dylan?”
“I did an impromptu inspection at the Santa Monica store today.”
“Great,” she said brightly. “You always bring back good feedback when you do one of those. What do you have for me?”
He dug one hand in his trouser pocket and looked out over the skyline. “One of the florists there has a lot of potential, and I want to do something about that.”
“What was her name?”
“Faith Crawford,” he said, ensuring his voice was even and didn’t give away his reaction to her.
There was a pause, and he could hear fingers tapping on a keyboard as Anne brought up Faith’s file. “What do you have in mind?”
“Her work is good. Really good. Original and creative. But in the interest of full disclosure, I should let you know that Faith is the person who bought the dates with me at the trust’s bachelor auction.”
“I was sorry to miss that night, it sounded like a lot of fun,” Anne said, chuckling. “So how do you want to handle this from here?”
He rubbed a hand through his hair. “She’s got a lot of potential, and I want to see Hawke’s Blooms benefit from that, but I don’t want any suggestion that she bought her way into a promotion. How about you get someone else to go out and assess her? Don’t tell them that the idea came from me, just let them go to the Santa Monica store without any preconceptions and see her work.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange and let you know.”
“Thanks, Anne.”
He hung up the phone, feeling very satisfied with his day’s work. The only thing that could make it better was to be the one who actually gave Faith the promotion, so he could be there when she found out about it. But he didn’t want her to think this had anything to do with their kiss, so it was better that she had a fair and independent assessment first. He had no doubt that whoever did that would see what he’d seen and recommend her for something more senior.
But still, a good day’s work indeed. He smiled, thinking about Faith’s reaction. She was going to be over the moon.
* * *
As Faith picked out a long-stemmed apricot rose from the bucket at her feet, Mary appeared across the bench from her with a folded piece of paper in her hand.
“I’ve just had a call from head office about you,” she said, her voice accusing.
Faith stopped what she was doing and looked up. “About me personally?”
Besides the initial paperwork when she’d started at the store, she hadn’t had any direct dealings with the head office other than the impersonal pay slips. She wiped her hands on her apron and waited.
Mary planted her hands on her hips. “Have you been talking to the head office without my knowledge?”
“Of course not,” Faith said, and then realized she’d been talking to Dylan on the weekend without her manager knowing. And would be talking to him again about their next two dates. But he had her phone number—he wouldn’t be contacting her via her manager.
Hands still on her hips, Mary lifted her chin as she spoke. “It was Anne in Human Resources. They’re offering you a promotion.”
Faith’s breath caught. Hang on...
“A promotion?” she repeated, trying to make sense of it.
“To the head office.” Mary thrust the piece of paper at her. “They emailed the details.”
Faith took the paper but didn’t want to open it in front of the entire store. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said and went out the back door to the lane. Then she opened the folded email printout.
It was a formal letter of promotion to the head office. To a desk job. She scanned the list of duties and found they were all things that didn’t involve customers. Or flowers.
Frustration started simmering in her belly. She’d spent most of her life being told what would happen to her. Announcements would come that she’d be moving to another family member’s house the next week, that she’d have to change schools, that her father would be visiting and taking her to a theme park, that he would be returning her to yet another relative afterward. The best thing about being an adult was that she was in charge of her own life.
So getting notice out of the blue saying she was being moved to a desk job that she hadn’t applied for and certainly didn’t want was particularly unwelcome.
She was ambitious, yes, but not for just any promotion. She had a very clear vision of what she wanted in her career, and this job—being stuck in a boring office, away from customers and the daily joy of working with flowers—wasn’t it.
Besides, was this really out of the blue?
She’d kissed the CEO, and in less than a week he’d come to the store for a full-day inspection—something the others said he used to do, but hadn’t done since she’d been working there. And now a promotion.
What was Dylan Hawke really up to?
The thought made her uneasy, so she went back through the door and told Mary that she was declining the offer.
* * *
Dylan drove into the parking lot of the Santa Monica store for the third time in a week, still not sure what to make of the call he’d had from Anne telling him Faith had turned down the promotion. With all her ambition, he’d expected her to leap at the opportunity. So, surprised and intrigued, he’d jumped into his car to talk to her face-to-face.
As he walked through the door, Mary dropped what she was doing and headed for him, her face covered in a fawning smile. Faith wasn’t in sight, and he was more disappointed than he should have been at not seeing an employee.
Then she walked in from the cold room, carrying a bucket full of flowers. She was wearing black biker boots that almost reached her knees and a bright purple dress that peeked out around the yellow Hawke’s Blooms apron. Her wild hair was caught up on top of her head and sprang out in all directions. He only barely resisted a smile—this woman was a force of nature.
Her step faltered when she saw him.
“Mr. Hawke!” Mary said when she reached him, darting suspicious glances at Faith. “Twice in one week. We’re honored.”
He paused before answering. He hadn’t planned what he should say here—how had the offer of the promotion gone down at the store level? Should he mention it now, or play it cool for the moment? He glanced across at her as she pulled stems one by one from the bucket. His gut was telling him not to mention it until he’d at least spoken to Faith.
He smiled at Mary. “I just have a few follow-up questions from the other day.”
“Well, I’m at your service,” she said, untying the apron strings at her back. “Would you like to talk here, or perhaps at the café next door?”
“Actually, I’d like to talk to Faith if she has a few minutes.”
Faith’s hands stilled and her face grew pale. He was torn between wanting to reassure her and wanting to demand an explanation. Instead, he turned an expectant expression to Mary.
“Of course, Mr. Hawke. If that’s what you want.” But her face was sour. She really didn’t like Faith getting more attention than her.
“Excellent.” He smiled and rocked back on his heels. “You mentioned a café next door?”
Mary’s mouth opened and closed again. “Er, yes. Courtney can finish that order. Faith. Can you come and talk to Mr. Hawke, please?”
“Certainly,” Faith said, wiping her hands on her apron and removing it. The entire time, she kept her gaze down.
“Thank you,” he said to Mary, and then opened the door for Faith and followed her out onto the pavement.
“Have I just made things difficult for you in there?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. “Nothing I can’t deal with.”
He was beginning to see how true that was. Faith Crawford was most definitely her own woman. From bidding on the CEO of her company at a charity auction to get his attention for her work, to turning down a promotion most of his staff would jump at and not bowing to the head office... The more he got to know this woman, the more he liked her.
They found a secluded booth at the café and ordered coffees.
“I heard you were offered a promotion.” He leaned back and rested his arm along the top of the padded vinyl booth. “You turned it down.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “You heard I was offered the job? Are you sure you don’t mean you arranged for me to be offered the job?”
He grinned. The fact that she spoke her mind was a very attractive feature. “Okay, I might have had a hand in it. After watching you in the store for a day, I realized your potential was being underutilized, and I implemented a plan to rectify that.”
“Is that all it was?” She arched an eyebrow and waited.
“You think it’s about more?” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his pulse picked up speed. “You think you were being promoted because I’d kissed you?”
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